


take a piece of me

by arcanine



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Communication, First Time, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanine/pseuds/arcanine
Summary: "I don't knowwhy,” Simon says, and he's embarrassed by the way his voice cracks. "Tonight was so nice. I… I really wanted to-"He kicks at the ground, scuffing his trainer against the concrete. He doesn't understand it. Why he can't just be normal. Why he can't feel things the way he's supposed to. Why he can’t let himself have Baz when he wants him so badly.[Simon never wants to pull away]
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 48
Kudos: 353





	take a piece of me

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I'm pretty new around here and I'm sure this kinda theme has probably been approached in many ways before, but I just had an absolute abundance of "I want them to talk!!" feelings and I couldn't rest until I wrote something.
> 
> oh and when I say "post-canon" I definitely mean that in a glossing over any unresolved plot points to focus on Feelings kinda way, because that's just what I'm about!

Simon never wants to pull away.

Yeah, he'll admit that the evidence might suggest otherwise, but honestly, he really doesn't. Why the hell would he? Baz is gorgeous and perfect and much less villainy than he always thought. Kissing him is incredible. It feels more powerful than eight years of being the (not) Chosen One combined. So good that sometimes Simon believes that he's escaped it. That things are actually going right.

Like tonight, for example. Tonight, he feels closer to Baz than he has done in ages. Usually grabbing dinner together means Simon wolfing down a Greggs steak bake or Baz sneaking off to drain a deer, but tonight things are different. Tonight, Baz drives them out to this posh little Italian place with great reviews and when Simon declares that the pizza's to die for, Baz leans over the table and picks up a slice and eats it. _In public_.

Simon feels his mouth fall open. He knows that Baz has been working on the whole fang thing since they got back from America. (Working on it and kicking things and hissing swear words that'd make children cry every single mealtime.) But he didn't realise that he'd come so far. He didn't think he'd ever see Baz casually eating pizza like it's no big deal. He tries to act all cool and unbothered, but underneath all that, he looks so proud. And not that pompous pride that used to make his face look extra punchable. He just looks happy. Simon can't stop grinning. This all just feels so… so _normal._

They order a second pizza. They eat it together and Baz's fangs don't pop once and they talk. They've been trying that lately - talking. Simon's still shit at it, but his therapist keeps pushing him to try. (She restarted their sessions without any complaints. She even went as far as to say it was _all part of the process_.) With Baz, even stupid, bumbling small talk feels revolutionary. It feels entire universes away from those god awful awkward silences that used to suffocate their every interaction.

Simon can barely believe that it's only been a month since he -

 _Merlin_. It hurts to remember.

It was just after they got home. They rushed over to Watford to help deal with the dark magickal creature uprising, and after they were done fighting, Simon led Baz up to the ramparts and he actually -

No. He can't think about what he said. About Baz's face, crushed and devastated. It makes him sick to think about how stupid he'd been. How convinced he was that breaking up was the only way. But he'd almost watched Baz die. He just wanted him to _live_.

He owes everything to Baz, for being so stubborn. For never knowing when to back down from a fight. Bruised and covered in merwolf blood, he stood tall.

 _"Simon Snow,"_ he said _. "I loved you hopelessly when you were my worst enemy. When I was waiting for the day that you'd end my life. I've loved you this past year, on days when you'd barely look at me. Even if you can't stand the sight of me, I'd still choose you over and over again. I'm not going to stop loving you just because you told me to. Because you hate yourself so much that you think I should!”_

Simon was crying before he'd even finished speaking. Baz cried too. Not posh, poetic tears, but ugly, angry sobs. Every bit of frustration from the last year came hurling out that night. They fought until their throats were hoarse - arguing about Lamb and cheap cider and cancelled therapy appointments. They didn't fistfight their way off the ramparts and try murder each other on the grass like they might have done years earlier, but they honestly weren't far off.

It was awful. The fucking worst. The last thing they needed after a fight and a gigantic bollocking from the Coven.

But they kept going until the sun crept up over the back of Mummers House. Until their voices softened and they flopped against the cold stone wall - against each other - and that voice in Simon's head that's always insisting he'll never be good enough was finally too tired to fight back. Simon clung to Baz's shirt, and he looked so beautiful in the dim early dawn, and it finally sunk in that he'd rather die than lose this. That Baz really did love him. That he was talking absolute bollocks.

He’d finally choked out those words he could never say: _I'm so sorry. I want to fight this. I love you so fucking much._

And they both agreed to try.

That's what they're doing now. Trying. It's clumsy and it's messy and some days it still feels impossible. But it's _something_. It's progress. And Simon can't remember the last time things felt this good.

He kisses Baz as soon as they leave the restaurant. He barely lets him unlock his car before he pounces. The second the automatic lock clicks, Simon opens the rear door and pushes, until Baz is right where he wants him - pinned flat on his back across the fancy seats. The noise of surprise he makes is _wicked_. (Simon loves catching Baz off guard). He wastes no time kissing him, thanking magic that they parked somewhere out of the way and that Penny spelled his wings before they left.

"Snow," Baz gasps, when he finally tears his mouth away. "There's hardly room for this."

Simon laughs when he looks over his shoulder and realises that Baz is laying with his feet poking out of the car door. He taps a hand against one of his stupidly long legs. "Just move these, you beanpole."

"And put my shoes on the seats?" Baz crinkles his nose in distaste.

"Yeah? You can spell it clean, can’t you?"

Baz rolls his eyes. "Waste of magic. Hang on. Just let me-"

Simon cuts him off with a low growl and a rough kiss, silencing Baz the best way he knows how. He's far too impatient to wait for him to unlace his shiny shoes. He's wasted so much time this past year on bullshit that wasn’t _this_. He needs this. Now.

“Please,” he murmurs.

Baz is so easy sometimes. He makes a show of sighing (because he always has to be a twat about it) but when Simon makes a proper effort to win him over, he’s so _easy_. It takes an awkward shuffle to get comfy. Simon knees a seatbelt buckle, but it’s worth the brief sting of pain to get Baz underneath him, legs bent and dark hair splayed on the leather seat. Simon's heart races when he pulls his wand out and spells the door closed. Cramped inside Baz's fancy car, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world.

Simon can’t believe he almost gave up on this. It aches too much to think about, so he pushes the thought away and pushes Baz instead, pressing him into the seat. He feels the noise he makes as much as he hears it - a low, rumbling groan.

"I eat one slice of pizza," Baz murmurs against his lips, "and it turns you completely feral."

"Four slices," Simon corrects, mouthing at his neck. "With your hands, Baz. You didn't even use a knife and fork."

"Your disgusting habits are clearly rubbing off on me."

The word rubbing inspires Simon. He rolls his hips a little, just testing the waters.

"Crowley," Baz hisses, arching into his touch.

He looks so good tonight. His expensive jacket fits him perfectly, and Simon wants to peel him out of it. He wants to keep going, to pop the buttons of Baz's shirt open and just look at him, gorgeous and vampire-pale under the faint orange glow from the streetlights outside. He knows that there are better places to do that than the back seat of a car, but it's the first time in so long that Simon feels like he could. Maybe Baz being so brave at dinner inspired him. Maybe all that _power of communication_ stuff his therapist spews is actually spot on. But Simon feels like it could happen - like anything's possible. His heart leaps to his throat as he realises how much he wants it. He knows that Baz wants it too, how long he's waited, and if the way he's arching is anything to go by then -

Then maybe this is it. Their moment.

The thought thrills Simon, and he's so, so into it, and then Baz's cold, delicate fingers slide under his shirt and press against the small of his back and edge, so cautiously, towards the waistband of his jeans and -

And Simon freezes.

And it happens.

It fucking happens again.

It's always the same. It's fine and he's fine and then it's too much - everything's too much. Static pulses through his veins and his whole body feels wrong - like he's too big for it - like he's going to explode out of it, but there's no magic left inside him, he’s just empty. It's suffocating and overwhelming; as paralysing as going off, but without the heat. It's just cold, and not soothing, pleasant Baz cold, but the icy chill of being plunged in cold water, of sinking, drowning, gasping for breath -

" _Simon_."

When he blinks back into reality, Simon jerks up so quickly that he whacks his head on the car roof. His breaths are ragged and fast, but it's nothing like the sexy breathlessness he felt only moments earlier.

He opens his mouth and tries to speak, but the words get stuck in his throat. His eyes are damp. He’s sweating.

Baz shifts up onto his elbows, eyes wide with concern. Simon's still straddling his hips. The car feels too claustrophobic so he shifts, fumbling with the door handle and practically throwing his body out into the cold air. Baz follows him out, exiting much more gracefully. He's a master of cool, but even in the dark, Simon can see it. The confusion. The concern.

"Snow," Baz says. "Simon…"

"I - I don't know _why_ ,” Simon says, and he's embarrassed by the way his voice cracks. "Tonight was so nice. I really wanted to-"

He kicks at the ground, scuffing his trainer against the concrete. He doesn't understand it. Why he can't just be normal. Why he can't feel things the way he's supposed to. Why he can’t let himself have Baz when he wants him so badly.

"I know." Baz's tone is so soft that it aches to hear it. "It's alright."

"It's not!" Simon snaps. "It's not. I'm-"

He hates the way Baz looks at him - full of pity; so cautious and kind. He wants to be glared at. Sneered at. He wants Baz to be furious. He'd rather be pushed down the stairs again than treated like fragile glass.

It's just the same old bullshit all over again. It never seems to get any better. It’s not like Simon thought he was miraculously healed or anything, but he thought things were improving. That he was starting to move past this.

Simon's supposed to be tougher than this. He was once. Stronger and faster, so powerful he could barely contain it. He used to hate how out of control it felt, all that magic beneath his skin, but he'd take it back in a heartbeat. He'd give anything to be different, to be a blissfully ignorant Normal or a proper mage. Anything but this broken in between.

He'd give anything to go back to those brief, conceited days when he thought he was invincible.

“Sorry,” he mutters to his shoes. "I'm so-"

"Don't be." Baz reaches out, but Simon jolts back, flinching on instinct. The hurt in his expression is so brief that Simon almost misses it. Almost. But not quite. "Shall we-" Baz clears his throat. "Shall I take you home?"

Simon nods. He can't speak. His throat's all dried up again. He climbs into the car and Baz is right next to him in the driver’s seat and it'd be so easy to just reach for his hand, but he can't. Because it wouldn't mean anything. Because it'd mean too much. Because you can't touch someone without being honest, without showing weakness, and even though it must be painfully obvious to the whole fucking world, how weak he is now, that doesn't mean that it's easy to admit.

They drive home in silence, their eyes fixed on the road.

Simon never wants to pull away.

***

"Was it different? With Wellbelove."

Snow's finger slips. The goal he had lined up on FIFA misses the net. The penalty shoot-out ends and the fake crowd goes wild as Baz’s team takes the tournament.

“That was gonna go in, you absolute wanker," he huffs, dropping his controller down onto the mattress.

Baz feels a smirk tugging on his lips. He hadn’t intentionally planned to be off-putting, but he can't deny that it still brings him a little pleasure to get Snow all riled up. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

"It's hardly my fault you're so easily distracted."

Snow bristles, almost taking Baz out in the process. Those hazardous wings really do take up half the room. Baz is perched on the edge of Simon's bed with half his arse hanging off the mattress. He's certain he was gifted more space in the fucking numpty coffin, but he bites back his instinct to grumble about it and navigates back to the game's loading screen.

“Was it though?” He tries again. “Different?”

"What do- uh. What d'you mean?"

Baz swallows. It doesn't often go down well asking Simon so directly about these kinds of things, but they both know not talking almost tore them apart. And they're taking baby steps lately. They're trying to get better at this.

“Could you...” Baz pauses, mulling over his words. He glances sideways and finds Simon staring. It was so much easier to ask when he was distracted. Without those blue eyes boring into whatever's left of his soul. “Did you. Engage in. Um.” Baz is painfully aware that he's blustering. He wants to shake himself. For God’s sake, Basilton. Spit it out. " _Did you have sex?”_

Simon's mouth falls open. His tail flips, brief and wild, before he freezes completely. If he still had magic, it'd be pouring out of him in thick clouds of smoke. After all these years, Baz has finally gone and done it. He's broken Simon Snow.

He leans in a little, approaching with the kind of caution he reserves for small woodland animals. “You don’t have to answer. I was just wondering if… if it was just me or-"

"Uh," Simon declares, sitting up straighter. "Well, er. I mean."

Baz waits for a continuation - a follow-up statement - but it never comes. Simon's mouth bobs again and his eyes shift away, and Baz doesn't know what that _means_. That he enjoyed beautiful, boring, missionary position intercourse with Wellbelove and he doesn’t want to hurt Baz’s feelings? That he didn't, and he’s sure he’ll never want to? Crowley. How stunted is their communication? How long have they been together without ever having this conversation?

Simon shifts again, picking up his controller. "Want another match?"

Baz honestly really doesn’t. It’s immensely frustrating that Snow’s dodging his questions in favour of kicking an imaginary ball, and it’s a real effort not to be a snappy little bitch about it. They only have limited time. Bunce will be home in an hour or two and she'll barge in and be so perfectly charming that Baz can’t resent her company and then it'll be so late that the only thing left to discuss will be driving home. So of course, he's hardly thrilled about wasting time on FIFA.

But Baz is trying to be patient. He’ll try anything to make Simon feel alright. He makes a show of sighing. “Go on then. But no crying when you lose this time."

They pick their teams at random. Baz is so preoccupied that he can barely even bring himself to complain about getting lumbered with fucking Norwich. They play the entire first half in silence. Normally, they'd have made an innovative array of snide digs at each other by this point, but there's this heavy weight hanging over them that feels so depressingly familiar. It shouldn't be like this. It shouldn’t be so terrifying, asking his boyfriend such a simple question, but with Simon, everything’s so _delicate_. Baz should’ve tried something more subtle like charming the question onto the back of the football player’s shirts. Would that work? Would Simon even notice?

He's thoroughly regretting even mentioning it in the first place when Snow's voice startles him.

"I… I always felt like I had too much magic.” Baz glances towards him, but his eyes remain fixed on the screen. “Like if I - oh!" Simon leans forward and aims at the goal. When he misses, he groans. "Like if I tried anything like that it'd just. Just… go really wrong, I guess? I had this dream once. In fourth year. You know like… one of them dreams?"

Baz nods. He was once all too familiar with the torturous panic of waking up, all sticky and sweaty, a mere few feet away from the boy who was frequently the shining star of his traitorous subconscious. "I know the kind."

"Yeah. Well, I had one and I... I kinda set the bed on fire?"

"At Watford?" Baz arches an eyebrow when Simon nods. He can recall waking up to his roommate stomping around like an ogre or swishing his stupid sword around, or waking up to that heady, smoky smell that drove him fucking mental. But… actual fire? You’d think Baz would remember such an immediate threat to his life. "Was I there?"

Simon shakes his head. "Guess you were skulking around in the catacombs or something? I dunno. It was pretty awful though. Had to ask for new pyjamas and everything."

That memory seems more familiar - brand new Watford pyjamas appearing on Simon's bed one day, still wrapped in plastic. Baz thought little of it, of course, assuming he'd eaten too many scones and roast dinners.

"So like. I haven't done that stuff. With anyone. I couldn't, even if I wanted to."

Baz isn't sure if that admission brings him pity or relief. "That... makes sense. I can't imagine Wellbelove would’ve appreciated being set on fire."

"Yeah," Simon mashes at the buttons. He's playing dreadfully. Baz could score goal after goal if he wasn't so distracted. "Plus it was, you know? _Different_. I-I’m not saying Agatha wasn't great. She was perfect. She was beautiful. She was-"

Something unpleasant twists in Baz's stomach, but he knows there's no need to be jealous. He watched Snow and Wellbelove prickling around each other the last time they were all together, and Baz can honestly say he has more chemistry with his wheelie bin.

“She was beautiful,” Simon says. “But I didn't want to. Not really."

"That's alright. Some people don't. There’s nothing wrong with-"

"But I _do_! I do now! I mean, not _right now_ , but-" Simon bites his lip. He's flushing right down to his neck and it's breathtaking. "You make me mental, Baz. I’ve wanted to push you down and shut you up and make you feel like- like completely bloody amazing since that first night we kissed. Since before that. I want to but I _can’t_. I think… I think I’m too fucked up.”

Simon looks down at the mattress. His fingers are twisted, all bunched up in the sheets, and his tail is thrashing all over the place. Baz only narrowly avoids being whacked by it when he pauses the match and leans over to turn off the TV. He shifts his weight back, so he's leaning against the pillows.

“Come here," he says, gesturing with a small crook of his fingers for Simon to follow.

He's expecting him to decline. To withdraw. To pull his knees towards his chest and shut down and leave them both feeling helpless. But Snow moves, crawling across the bed so he can flop clumsily half on top of Baz, face pressing into the crook of his neck. The arch of his wings blocks out the fading sun outside the window, and the dim, cosy room would probably seem quite pleasant if he didn't feel so bloody sorry for Simon. Baz wraps an arm around him, angling awkwardly around his wings so his fingers can stroke over his arm.

“I’m sorry, Simon," he says simply. He means it. He’s so sorry that he saved the World of Mages from the greatest threat it’s ever faced but no one can do anything to stop him feeling like he’s broken.

"S'alright. At least I can do this without fucking it up..."

Baz tightens his grip. "You know there’s no rush, right? We can wait until your 200th birthday if you want.”

Simon hums. They don't talk about it much. The fact that he might grow old without Baz. It’s too much to delve into right now. Another concern for another day.

"Reckon I’d make a pretty decent vampire,” he says. He kisses Baz’s neck, then lets his teeth graze lightly over the same spot. He used to do that sometimes, when they first started all this, when kissing made him all giddy and silly. He'd nibble at Baz's neck and pretend he was the vampire.

Baz swallows, hoping Simon can't feel the way his pulse accelerates foolishly at the memory of kissing and kissing until their lips were pink and sore. It was easier back then. He never worried that Simon would break if he held on too tight. It was terrifying. But it was easier too.

"You want to," Simon whispers, “don’t you?”

Baz swallows again. There's no use denying it. He's so painfully desperate that even the densest of specimens could see right through him. " _Of course_ I want to. You're unjustly attractive and it's a constant distraction from any rational thought. But that doesn't mean I _need_ to. My instincts often tell me to devour you whole, but I’m perfectly content not giving in to that impulse."

“What if I can’t. What if we never-"

"You’re enough for me the way that you are. I love you. I don’t _mind_."

"But you should mind! You're normal! Without me you could-"

"Normal?" Baz cuts him off with a short, mirthless laugh. “I'm a half dead vampire."

"But you can still do stuff! You can wank! You - you can wank, right?”

Baz almost chokes on his tongue. Simon’s far too close to be saying words like _wank_. "My anatomy works in the way you might expect, yes.”

Simon looks down, studying Baz with an embarrassing ferocity. Is he thinking about all those times when their heated snogging got out of hand? The time he’d pressed his whole palm against Baz’s erection and said, blue eyes wide and dead fucking serious, “wow, I guess your fangs aren’t the only things that grow when you need them." (Detestable sexy _idiot._ )

His cheeks are just as flushed now as they were back then, and Baz isn't too far behind. He regrets feeding earlier. They're matching pink disasters.

"C-Cool. That's, uh. Pretty clever, that."

"Is it?" It's a struggle to remain impassive. Baz's body betrays him, springing desperately into action because he's weak and depraved and Simon Snow is still staring at his dick.

"Yeah. Clever that vampires can still..." Simon trails off. He's so close that Baz can practically feel his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallows. It’s a beautiful neck. He’s a beautiful boy.

"So we presume. It's not like there are any resources available. We might both burst into a cloud of vampiric ash in our moment of climax. You not being ready could be saving our lives."

Simon laughs, brief and nervous. Even in Baz's permanent state of cold, he can tell the room's getting hotter. He hates himself for it. This is all his fault. He should be mature enough to discuss his boyfriend's very real trauma without feeling an inappropriate stirring of arousal. Snow's trusting him, speaking to him, struggling to express himself when it doesn't come naturally, and Baz is repaying him by thinking terrible, terrible things. What kind of a boyfriend does that make him?

This has to stop this here. He'll go make tea. Baz brought crumpets over and Simon will go wild when he hears about them. He’ll switch on the light and bring back tea and crumpets. That'll take care of… whatever this strange mood is.

"I'll just-" Baz shuffles like he's preparing to move. "I might go put the kettle-"

“Don't." Simon catches his arm, keeping him in place. His voice sounds strained. Did Baz cause that? Did he make him feel that uncomfortable? "Not yet."

Fine. Brilliant. Absolutely perfect. Baz will just lie here pretending that neither of them have noticed that the limited supply of blood in his body has all swelled downwards. He feels like a hapless teenager again, except somehow this is even more painful. Because Simon's within reach now. He's _right here_ lying half on top of Baz, breathing hot bursts of mouth breather air onto his neck and Baz still can't touch him because it only ever makes things worse.

"Baz?" Simon's voice is barely audible.

"Hm?"

"What would you do if - if there was a spell you couldn't get the hang of?”

"That seems highly unlikely."

“Just. Don't be an arse for a sec. What would you do?”

"I suppose I'd... practice?"

"Yeah." Simon moves closer, somehow. "That's what I thought."

His tail brushes down his thigh, and Baz actually trembles. He's that pathetic. So far gone that even that ridiculous red devil tail can make him weak at the knees. And don't even get him started on those fingers. Simon's hand is sliding over his stomach now, slipping under his jumper and across his bare skin and Baz has no idea what's happening, but he knows he's not strong enough to survive it.

"What are you-"

"Will you help me?" Simon's hand slides lower. "Practice?"

"How?"

"I dunno. Let me lead? See what happens? I think if it's you then I can-"

"Simon,” Baz says, weakly. “You really don't have to-"

"I know. I know it's weird, alright? I know this whole thing is confusing and crap and really bloody weird, and I know that it’ll hurt you again if it all goes wrong, but… but I want you. I want you so much. And right now it just feels like,” he takes a shaky breath, “I just feel like I wanna try.”

Baz's breath hitches embarrassingly. Naturally, they've _tried_ on previous occasions and it's never ended well. There's no evidence to suggest that this time is any different. It's overwhelmingly likely that Simon will end up feeling terrible, and Baz can't stand the thought of seeing him shut down again. And supposing that they - Baz feels himself flushing - supposing they get further than they have before. Who's to say that he can even hold it together. What's stopping him from losing control and draining Simon dry?

All things considered, it's undoubtedly risky.

But Simon's so close and he wants to and Baz loves him more than he's ever loved _anything_. And you don't end up in bed with your lifelong enemy by taking the sensible route in life.

"If you change your mind," Baz says. "If you want to stop-"

"I'll tell you."

"Promise?”

“Promise.”

"Okay." Baz nods.

“Okay," Simon breathes.

It's not the first time Simon's undressed him. They've been here before - fumbling hands tugging clumsily at fabric as they kiss. He flings Baz's delicate jumper carelessly over his shoulder and it disappears into the void of his messy room, but Baz can’t bring himself to give a fuck. Because Simon’s pulling at the hem of his own t-shirt now. He slides it up, exposing his taut stomach, and Baz tries not to stare. Simon doesn't often like to be looked at. He hides under baggy layers on bad days and he doesn't let anyone in. But he's not hiding now. He looks so lovely, all freckled and exposed, even when his shirt gets stuck on his wings and he starts flailing around wildly. Baz watches him struggle to untangle himself. He’d help, of course, if he wasn’t too busy laughing. (It's a wonder he even bothers to put a shirt on in the morning, considering the effort it takes him to undress.)

Snow growls when he’s finally free, prowling over Baz, cutting off his laughter with a rough kiss. He’s so close. So warm. So hot it's almost suffocating. Baz is exceptionally greedy. He wants to soak up all the heat from Simon's skin, but he also doesn't dare to touch him. He doesn't want to ruin whatever this is. He's waiting, he realises, for Simon to say it's too much.

"You're tense," Simon murmurs. "Just… just relax, okay?"

Baz almost laughs again. When did he become the one who needs reassuring? Sure, he can barely breathe, but who can blame him? Simon Snow, the gorgeous disastrous legend himself, is unfastening Baz’s jeans and it's so nerve-wracking that he might just die on the spot. He nudges impatiently until Baz has shimmied inelegantly out of his jeans and pants and socks. He shivers, but it's nothing to do with the cool air. It's Simon. It's _always_ Simon. He’s the only thing in the world that can make Baz’s barely working heart hammer out of his chest.

Simon inhales sharply as his eyes roam down. He's never been one for subtlety, but the heat of his unabashed gaze is bordering on scandalous. The room is dim, but it's not so dark that Simon can't see him, exposed in his entirety. Baz is an absolute trembling wreck.

"God. How d'you always looks so… so..."

"Dead?" Baz fills in.

"Oh, sod off. You look _good_. You know you do. Can I-"

Baz barely has the chance to breathe out " _yes"_ before Simon wraps a startlingly brave hand around his erection, just like that. A dreadfully embarrassing sound falls from his lips, and he has to make a real effort not to lose it immediately because this is literal years of fantasies coming true. Because Simon’s moving his hand and it feels so good and real and hot and clumsy. It's so much clumsier than he ever imagined, but so much better too _._

“I-Is that alright?” Simon asks. He's adorable. It’s fucking adorable that he thinks it’s possible to curl his fingers around Baz’s dick and somehow get it wrong.

“More than alright. Fuck _-_ "

“I-I don't really know what I'm doing."

"Trust me, Snow. You're more than sufficient."

" _Sufficient_." Simon laughs against his mouth. "How do you still sound so posh?"

Baz laughs too, or at least he tries to. It comes out sounding like a sharp hitch of breath because Simon’s hand is rough and fast and it feels so _good_. “It comes naturally."

Simon snorts again. “Hope so. I’ll die if your whole vampire thing means you start levitating or spurting out bl-”

“Stop _._ I’m begging you. Do not finish that sentence."

Simon doesn't let go exactly, but he leans back far enough that Baz can see him blink his blue eyes innocently. "Stop?" He asks. "Is that what you want?"

Baz grips his shoulder and tugs him back close. "Don't you dare," he hisses.

He never thought that this would happen _._ Not now, maybe not ever. But he can't think about what it means yet - if it’s a one-off, if it’ll happen again, if this will be the peak of his (possibly eternal) life. He can't think about anything other than Simon Snow. (But isn't that his whole life anyway? Is anything about that newsworthy?)

"Baz, you're - you're so _hot_ ," Simon rasps out, pressing himself against Baz's thigh. He's so hard. Baz can feel him, hot and thick, even through the material of his joggers. He rolls his hips just enough to make Baz ache _._

 _Crowley._ He's already dead and Simon Snow is going to kill him.

***

Simon's world is always rapidly changing. One minute he's in a care home, and the next he's at Watford. He's the Chosen One, then he's nothing. He has too much magic, then none at all. He thinks Agatha’s his dream girl, then he’s snogging his (impossibly fit) vampire roommate. He thinks he'll never move past all this bullshit, and then he's half-undressed with his hand wrapped around Baz's dick. That kind of thing.

Nothing ever seems to go to plan. But he can't say he's against this new development.

He's against Baz though. Properly pressed against him and losing it at how responsive he is. Yeah, he’s always been a drama queen, but Simon didn't know it was possible to drag it out like this, to make every subtle breath seem like an absolute performance. He full-on whines when Simon pulls his hand away.

But this time, it's not because he's panicked and unsure. It's because he’s overheating. Because the room feels like one of those humid days in summer when the air is so thick you can’t breathe. Because he’s so overwhelmingly hot he can’t stand it. He kicks off his joggers and pants and he doesn't really think about what it _means_ until he’s fully naked and staring at his equally naked vampire boyfriend, who’s gazing back at him like he's famished, like he’s about to eat Simon alive or something.

Simon’s mouth is so dry. He’s so hard that he’s aching, and all he wants is for Baz to shove him back, wild and reckless, but that kind of thing… it’s never gone right. It’s always been too much. Something he doesn’t know how to give. Simon knows that Baz would never push him. He could run from this, from all those terrifying, overwhelming feelings that always stop him from letting go. But he doesn't want to. Doesn't _need_ to.

He won't hide. Not this time.

Simon’s pushed magic through Baz’s veins. He’s laid with him under the stars on endless highways. He’s kissed him and he’s pushed him away and he’s never been sure about anything in his whole life apart from _this._ And now he wants to feel it. He wants to feel everything with Baz. _Together._

But he doesn’t know how to say all that. So he rolls onto his back instead, wings spreading out across the mattress. He feels shy. He feels brave _._ He murmurs Baz’s name and he feels like he might die if Baz doesn’t touch him soon. He's too far gone to try to find the right words, so he grips Baz’s hand and moves it so it's right where he wants it and hopes that he'll take the hint. (He does. He takes it perfectly.)

But it's not enough. It's selfish and it's greedy, but Simon wants more. Baz is being so _careful_ and Simon doesn't want him to hold back. He wants him cocky and bossy, the way that he should be. He wants to feel all of Baz. His cool hands and his warm breath and the weight of his ribs as he presses Simon down into the mattress.

He grips Baz’s wrist and presses harder. "Stop being so gentle. I'm okay. I won't _break_."

"I'm stronger than you think."

"So am I." It feels powerful to admit it, that he’s more than just lost and weak. That he's different than he was, but that doesn't mean he’s _wrong_. "Stop holding back," he growls.

Baz groans, and then he shifts away, and Simon's about to tell him that absolutely fucking counts as holding back, when he speaks. “There’s something...” he says. “Something that I've always wanted to do."

"Yeah?”

"I want to-" Baz bites his lip. "Oh Crowley, don't make me say it. I want to use my mouth."

For a second, Simon thinks Baz wants to bite him and he almost agrees anyway. Then he notices his heated gaze, projected downwards and he- Oh fuck, he wants to-

Simon covers his face with his elbow, and his cheeks feel hotter than they've ever been. "I-I might not last long."

Baz laughs. “Trust me, that’s the least of my concerns. Do you - Do you want to?"

“Yeah. Yes. T-That sounds… _Please_."

Moments later, Baz is kissing his thigh. Simon feels his sharp teeth scrape against his skin and it should make him nervous when he gets too close, when he sucks in a shaky breath like he’s only moments away from losing control and sinking his teeth all the way through Simon’s soft, bruisable flesh. A bite too sharp could kill him. But Simon's never felt so safe. He trusts Baz so much.

He prowls closer. His dark hair falls forward, tickling Simon’s belly, and Simon rakes a trembling hand through it, pushing it out of his face because he doesn’t want to miss anything. He wants to burn this into his memory - Baz’s mouth getting closer as he- Merlin, Morgana, _fuck_ , as he actually-

He really fucking does it. Baz takes him into his mouth like he's been waiting forever, like he's wanted this for so long, and Simon has too. He already feels like he’s falling apart. He knows Baz has never done this before and he'd be absolutely enraged about this being another thing he's just naturally fucking perfect at (the talented prick) but he's also immensely distracted because Baz looks so _pretty._ He sinks lower like he was made to do this, and all Simon can do is tangle his fingers tighter in his hair and spread his legs a little wider, pushing his hips up into his eager mouth.

Simon bites down on his fist to try stop himself from crying out. He moans anyway, and he hardly recognises the sound of his own voice. He wants to touch Baz too and it pisses him off that he can't reach, and then suddenly Baz groans and Simon feels the vibration and he looks down and finds that Baz’s hips are arched up off the mattress and his tail is… uh. Well. It’s _assisting_. It’s curled alongside Baz’s hand as he touches himself, and Simon would feel embarrassed about what a freak of nature he is, but then Baz’s mouth gets messier and it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened in the history of the entire universe and Simon _loves_ it. He loves it so much.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Baz. Keep - keep going. _Exactly_ like that.”

Baz has always gotten under Simon’s skin, but it feels so good to have him there by choice. To properly _let him in._ He reaches for Baz's hand and squeezes. It feels like dreaming up the stars together. Like flames tingling beneath his skin. Like magic. _Actual_ magic. He wonders if Baz would laugh if said that out loud. If he knows how much he means. That Simon's worst days would've been worse than catastrophic if Baz wasn't there, always trying to pull him through.

“I love you,” Simon gasps out, and it’s incredible how those words that were so heavy and impossible to say fall from his lips as easily as an old, familiar spell.

For the first time in so long, he doesn’t feel empty.

He just feels _complete._

***

Baz tries not to take it personally that after an emotional breakthrough and an earth-shattering orgasm or two, Snow still seems most excited about the crumpets. He's sitting on the sofa, shirtless and sinfully dishevelled, and he won't stop shovelling them into his greedy mouth. Baz can't keep his eyes off him. Truthfully, he's feeling disgustingly soft. So much so that he'd almost considered serving the crumpets to Simon in bed with the entire pack of butter and a spoon on the side. _Almost_ being the keyword. He's not an animal. Simon already asked him to spend the night and Baz might be basking in the warmth of post-coital bliss, but he still won't lower himself to sleeping in a bed full of crumbs

“So, I reckon my therapist was right," Simon says. Or at least Baz thinks he does. It's hard to decipher his words when he speaks with his mouth full.

"Pardon?"

Thankfully, Simon swallows before he elaborates. “Talking about stuff. It helps, doesn’t?”

“Mm,” Baz agrees, leaning back against the sofa. “That certainly was one for your weekly achievements section."

Simon flushes and takes a large gulp of his tea, yelping when it burns his mouth and he spills some stray drops onto the carpet. He's an absolute hazard right now. He’s already knocked the table at least three times. His tail has been twitching around so much that he genuinely resembles an overexcited puppy. Baz watches him rub the spilt tea into the floor with a sock he found under a sofa cushion, knocking an old water bottle with his wings in the process, and he can't help but smile. What a gloriously clumsy oaf he's chosen to spend his life with.

It feels so good to see him like this _._ Overflowing with energy, alert enough to faff around and worry about Bunce telling him off about the stain. So _alive_ on the same sofa he could barely lift his head off. He's not sure what it all means. But he does know that he'd perform a series of dark ritual sacrifices to make this peace last even a few hours longer.

"Plotting something?"

Baz blinks out of his daydream. "I don't know. Am I?"

"It's just you're staring. Quite a lot. Hate to say it but it seems," Simon clambers back onto the sofa and leans in, "kinda gay actually?"

"What an outrageous accusation. Whatever gave you that impression."

Simon grins lazily. "Your hair, for starters. You're a mess, you know."

Baz smooths it out self-consciously. He'll admit that this might not be his finest look. He's unnaturally flushed and he's yet to make contact with a hairbrush and he's even wearing one of Simon's (unreasonably comfortable) hoodies because he hadn't been able to locate his jumper. (It smells like him.) (But then, so does Baz, he supposes.) He mightn't have got dressed at all, had it not been for Snow's stomach growling at them both as they cuddled and ruining the mood spectacularly.

"I like it,” Simon says. “I like knowing I'm the reason that you're all… you know."

Baz feels himself smile. They kept exchanging these soft, shy glances and it’s gloriously sickening. "Well, I can't say you look much better yourself.”

He reaches out to ruffle Simon's messy curls, and then he freezes, thinking better of it. It seems ridiculous to be wary considering his breath still tastes like Simon, but despite all that, he still feels somewhat unsure. He doesn’t know where the boundaries lie. And the last thing he wants is to create an uncomfortable atmosphere when things are so nice.

Simon picks up on his hesitation, reaching over to lace their fingers together. They're a little oily. _Butter._

"You know,” he says, “I’m pretty sure I'm still terrible at this."

"Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Given recent events, I'll probably consider upgrading your status to thoroughly tolerable.”

“No, I mean. I don't-” Baz waits for Simon to find the words he’s searching for. “I don’t think I'm cured or anything?”

“I promise that no one’s expecting you to be. The only thing I’d ever expect is for you to carry on being your beautiful, chaotic, disastrous self.”

"But it’s just like. I wanna do all that again, yeah? M-Maybe even try some other stuff. And I just... I hope that I can? I wanna be all confident that I could do it again tomorrow and next week and the week after, but I - I don’t know. I don’t know _anything_.”

Simon looks down and Baz hates to see him look so unsure. He won’t stand for it. Not tonight. He squeezes his hand tight.

“It’s okay to not know. You’ve got a hundred other things on your plate, don’t you? And even you can’t eat through an entire buffet on your own. But you’ve got a bottomless stomach and a disgustingly healthy appetite. So you’ll get there. Just keep going back when you can. Take it… one serving at a time.”

Simon blinks. “Did... did you just use a food metaphor on me?”

“I’m extremely poetic,” Baz waves his free hand grandly. “And I thought you might find it relatable.”

“No, I do. I get it. You mean like… like you can’t eat your dessert when you’re halfway through your starter, right?”

“Precisely," Baz says, and when Simon smiles, warmth spreads rapidly through his ice-cold chest. "Although," he says, barely holding back a grin of his own. "Lest we forget the time you dipped garlic bread in your ice cream.”

"Wh-" Simon flushes, pointing an accusing finger. "I was only twelve! How do you even know that?”

“Your horrendous actions have obviously scarred me for life.”

"Did someone tell you? Was it Penny?"

"I know everything about you, you dreadful creature."

Simon huffs, but he climbs into Baz's lap anyway, his oversized wings wrapping around them both like a frightfully strange security blanket. Baz is thankful that they can do this more easily these days. That even when it’s tense and it’s tough and they fight, it always comes back to this.

“I-It was just an experiment, you know,” Simon mutters. “I was just messing around with flavours, that’s all. Garlic bread ice cream could’ve been the next big thing!”

“Have I mentioned how much you disgust me?” Baz asks, his voice dripping with undisguised adoration.

“Yeah?” Simon brushes Baz’s hair aside so he can press his face against his neck. “Says the bloke who eats rats for breakfast.”

**Author's Note:**

> so, this was kinda my trial run for writing these characters and I've honestly been pretty nervous about it, so I hope I did alright! I wasn't really planning to write something with a first time element, but when I was trying to delve through the many, many conversations they need to have, my brain just seemed to zoom in on the whole intimacy side of things and it seemed like a manageable thing to try portray in a one-shot like this.
> 
> based on the current status of my google docs, it seems quite likely I'm gonna write these guys again (and hopefully manage to have other characters actually appear) so I'll probably be seeing you around! come say hi at my very boring [tumblr](https://arca9.tumblr.com/) if you wanna!


End file.
